Flight
by Sushi1
Summary: In the darkest of all possible futures, the wizarding world has only one concern: survival.


"Flight"

* * *

12 February, 2020

Ron's gone. He was taken At His Majesty's Pleasure this afternoon. Percy told me. It's hard to believe Percy's the only Weasley left. I mean, after Ginny broke down and started the injections, and Arthur took the rest of them to Wales to hide, I hadn't expected them to have any more problems. That was five years ago. So much for that idea, then. 

Percy's spending the night, then he's back to Cardiff. He's driving a lorry now. Mentioned something about his tyres blowing out sometimes when he gets too angry with traffic. It's a job, though, and it's honest, and it's Muggle. Odd that Percy adapted better to the Muggle world than the rest of his family. Sometimes I think he should have been in Slytherin, what with his cunning. 

Not sure how I feel about Ron yet. I feel sick, I know that much, and scared, but mostly I'm still numb. My god. Ron's _gone_. 

Got a letter from Hermione today. It helps a little, I think. She's still in Romanistan, still safe, although she says the political climate has changed. Apparently, the Rom are starting to openly resent "losing their already-long-lost homeland to another group of outcasts". It's a little disconcerting to think that we've become the new Gypsies now that they've got their own country. Hermione's thinking of trying to make it to the Swiss Republic, or maybe Zaire, but she doesn't have much hope. 

Think I hear Severus. He's been in the attic all day, again. Another lot of scrolls came up for the Heritage Project and he's trying to translate and transcribe. (Where did he pick up Old English, anyway?) I don't think he gets tired anymore. I'm worn out, myself. With all the work to get those forged GCSE results, you'd think I could find a better position than a clerk at Waterstone's. 

* * *

14 February, 2020

Got the washing Percy forgot sent off today. (Glad he forgot that tenner in the pocket, too, or he'd have had to come pick it up. Postage is a nightmare.) I miss owl post. It'll be days before he gets his things. Glad he's gone, though. Nice to have tonight for just us. 

Going to talk Severus into a decent set of clothes and take him out for dinner and maybe a film. It's been ages since we've been out to dinner, much less seen a film. Don't expect to be in too early - Valentine's Day, after all. I've got a nice shirt I haven't worn in ages - green; he always did like me in green - with a Snitch on the pocket. It's a little childish, but anything that reminds him of the way things were is good. Maybe I ought to have found a red one. No, he likes green. He misses those days. 

* * *

15 February, 2020

Well, last night was an unmitigated disaster. 

I talked Severus into slacks and a suit coat after getting him to wash the scroll grime out of his hair. He really looks quite nice in suit coats, even if I do miss the way his robes used to hug his... well. At least I can remember it. 

We'd had a lovely dinner - that little Indian place up the road where they make the korma he likes so much - and were at the cinema. The soppy, romantic movie I wanted to see (much to his disgust) was sold out by the time we got there, so we decided on something called "Nine Days" instead. Turned out the main antagonist was a wizard, a potions expert at that, who potion-bombed nine primary schools over a period of nine school days. Severus didn't take that very well. I nearly had to sit on his lap to keep him from storming out and exposing us. I spent two miserable hours sitting there, clutching his hand, trying to ignore the tears running down his face. Fortunately, every fucking Muggle in the place was crying by the end, too, so nobody noticed afterwards. 

I apologised about a hundred times, and he said he accepted it, and we made love when we got home, but there was something dim about his eyes. God. I love the slimy git so much, can't bear to see him like this. Sometimes I think it would be easier if he could just be captured and then killed while trying to escape. He's too proud to ever submit to the injections, and if he ever did he wouldn't be my Severus anymore. 

Off work today. We're both pleased about that, even if he is locked in the attic again. I might go up the road for a little while and watch the junior Quidditch league practise for a while. I miss my old Firebolt. It was a damn sight better than what passes for a broom now. 

* * *

20 February, 2020

Wow. Severus was waiting for me when I got in this evening. He just grabbed me, snogged me until I thought my head was going to fly off, and announced that he's pieced together what the scrolls are: Salazar Slytherin's personal journal from after he left Hogwarts! That's... the Heritage Project is going to leave a wet spot once they find out about this! 

It was a nice thing to hear after today. The Ministry of Magic issued another decision. They're going to start erecting countrywide surveillance spells to detect any and all unauthorised use of magic. (By unauthorised, of course, I mean anything the Muggle government doesn't think we ought to be allowed to do.) Looks like the days of saving money by reading by Lumos at night are over. I don't want to have to think about that. We're in tight enough straits as things are. 

Voldemort was right, in the end. The goddamned snake was right. We should have separated from the Muggle world when we had the chance. And, you know what? That means this mess is all my fault. God. Luckily, nobody remembers Harry Potter. They're all too busy trying to survive. 

Then there's the Heritage Project. Frankly, if it weren't for Severus supporting me, I think they'd have found a way to turn me in by now. I've done some work for them, too, though, which helps. Then, I could probably vanish into the Muggle world completely if I wanted to (never thought I'd be grateful for those ten years with the Dursleys; some wizards would gladly pay millions upon millions of pounds to have the Muggle paper trail I've got). 

Draco rang today. Wanted to make sure I'm taking care of his godfather. He's been a lot nicer to me since Sirius died in the early riots. Then, if it weren't for Severus... Draco's in The Ministry now. The moment he thinks I'm being anything less than brilliant to his godfather, he'll have me hauled in as a rogue. Fortunately, Severus knows how much I care for him and how hard I work to keep him safe. I don't think he'd be too happy with Draco if that happened. 

* * *

22 February, 2020

Local junior Quidditch league match today, Warwick Warriors against the Whitnash Supersonics. Not a bad match, for Muggles. Severus refused to go, of course, but I can't blame him. Although, as long as I don't think about what's happened to "the sport of warlocks", I can enjoy it. 

Romanistan's broken out in riots between the Rom and the wizard refugees. Worried about Hermione. Hoping she makes it to the Swiss Republic. Or Zaire. 

* * *

23 February, 2020

Fifteenth anniversary of the day The International Confederation of Wizards decided to break silence. With so many Muggle-borns in the world, and in the backlash of pro-Muggle sympathies after the fall of Voldemort, someone decided it was time to prove that the era of witch trials was over. Severus is wearing his old robes, and refuses to leave the attic. I haven't got the heart to drag him out. When I brought him some lunch, I noticed he'd pushed his sleeve back and inked in his old Dark Mark. I can't say I blame him. 

I think I might see if we've got any scotch left. I know we were saving it for a special occasion, but we haven't had anything come up in a while that's really been special. It's all just trying to slog through life, stay under the Muggle radar. I'm tired. Not just tired of it, I'm _tired_. I wish Voldemort had killed me. Then I wouldn't have to hear about what old schoolmate of mine has accepted the injections and become a Squib, or who's been "detained for the safety of the general public", or who's really sold out and gone to work for The Ministry. I've got a lot of respect for Percy. He quit before it had gotten that far, and he's somehow kept from being spotted all these years. 

I've been thinking about Albus Dumbledore a lot today. I don't know, it might just be that I never got to know him in any light but the powerful, protective, gentle grandfather I never had, but I can't help but think that if he had lived he would have protested the whole "coming out" issue. As equal-minded as he was, he wasn't daft. He'd have known better. At least, that's how I want to remember him. 

Can't help but think that if Voldemort had killed me then none of this would have happened. Sure, Muggles might be in the same state we are now, but, you know, they deserve it. Well, not all of them, maybe. Or maybe they do, I don't know anymore. At least they'd just have a quick death or a simple Imperius Curse. We wouldn't have herded them into warded camps for god-knows-what to happen. None of this "it's unfair and dangerous for any single ethnic group to have unchecked powers against which the majority of the population cannot defend" bullshit. 

God, I miss Voldemort. 

I want that scotch. 

* * *

29 February, 2020

Severus' birthday. He's sixty today. Looks like he's in his thirties. That's bad. That's really, really bad. He's living as a Muggle, or as much like one as I can convince him to, and he looks exactly like he did ten years ago. We keep joking that he's really only fifteen - he's taking great glee in calling me a paedophile - but I keep looking out the window, or waiting for the phone to ring, or for the door to just fly open and Ministry officials to barge in and drag him away. 

I made him a cake, and then after work I picked another one up from Tesco because I know how horrid my cooking is. We really can't afford it, but he's worth it. Only, I love him so much. After Voldemort fell, and I left school and finally came back to give that week of lectures to the Defence Against the Dark Arts classes, and we actually had to sit down and talk... my god, we've been _together_ together for nearly eighteen years, not counting those two years we were only getting there. 

I still remember the first time he kissed me. It was just after the end of school in 2002. He'd been teasing me again about The Great War Hero Harry Potter not having settled down with some random witch yet. I'd always shrugged before and said I just hadn't found the right random witch. This time, I told him, "Maybe I'm not looking for a witch." He stared at me for a moment, then just leaned across the table in the Three Broomsticks and kissed me. Right there. Everyone watching. After that, he went straight back to chatting like nothing was different, but he kissed me again before I went home that night. 

He says he hasn't had that much experience with kissing anyone but me, always been a bit too reserved for that, but that kiss... I can still taste the mead on his lips, can still feel his careful hesitancy and how soft it made his mouth, can still smell the Antihistaminic Elixir he'd been brewing that day. He's got horrible hay fever, and these Muggle tablets he's had to start taking since the bans on potions ingredients just aren't anywhere as good. 

He's still working on Slytherin's journal. Since he hasn't got anyone else to discuss it with now that the Heritage Project's gone completely underground, he's been telling me about what he's found. It... the reason Salazar Slytherin split from the other Founders is that he could see this coming. The man foresaw everything... the Medieval witch burnings... the later witch trials... the situation now. The very thing he's been reviled for is the very thing people ought to have listened to. Muggle-borns and half-bloods were a weakness, socially. Most of them have been powerful witches and wizards (like Hermione), but they still left a route open to eradicate wizards on the whole. 

Severus isn't finished and says that this is only the tip of the iceberg. He's still looking, but he thinks some of the more decayed passages may allude to the other side of the break with Godric Gryffindor. God, if he could only use his wand without risking his life. I think if it were only him here, he would. He says he doesn't want to risk anything happening to me. How am I supposed to make him understand that I'm nothing? If it wasn't for me, then... 

Dinner's ready. I wish I could take him out instead of making him cook. We just can't afford it, though. At least Valentine's Day was for both of us. Can't help but think that if I hadn't insisted on seeing that damned film we might be able to. I've got stacks and stacks under the pit that used to be Gringott's, but it's not legal tender anymore and Galleons don't melt down. 

He's never given up hope. I am _so_ proud of him. I wish I could make him see how proud. 

* * *

3 March, 2020

Got a raise today! That's the first time it's happened in two years! We'll still be on a tight budget (I've only gone from £7.50 per hour to £8.00 per), but at least we might be able to buy milk when we run out instead of waiting on the next pay packet. We might even be able to re-paint the bungalow this summer. 

Heard from Percy again. He's living under the name Percy Wheatley right now - he just sneers and says "ha, ha" when I tell him he ought to be Percy Weatherby. He's been hired out to a Continental transport firm, which means he'll be driving a lorry across Europe. He's leaving next week, and he wants to visit one more time before he does. He's not coming back. He's going to take the lorry from Munich to Rome, go north, and re-settle in the Swiss Republic. I'm happy for him. Really, I'm happy. At least one of us will have made it. God, I'm so happy I'm crying. 

My god. My god. What have I got to live for here, then? Eight quid an hour, hiding like some rat in a hole? It takes two solid hours of work to buy one of the fucking paperbacks I'm stuck selling, not that I've got time to read, not that we can waste money on books when we've got to eat. I haven't even got my scar anymore. That faded when Voldemort fell. 

I know why I haven't sneaked off to the Swiss Republic or Zaire or Paraguay or maybe even La République du Québec: Severus. He's so British it hurts. He'd rather die a British wizard than live an alien refugee. I wish I had that sort of courage. I think I lost mine someplace. If not for him... viva l'République. 

Found a message from the Heritage Project in the garden. It was only a few lines scratched in the dirt. It was an improvement, anyway - once, they keyed it into my car. That one's still there, but you can't even read it for all the rust on the thing. Severus had already read this one, today, but he left it for me. This time the note was that they'd found more scrolls in the same place as the ones he's got now, better ones. They'll send them along as soon as they can. 

Severus said he's making something special for dinner to celebrate my raise. Smells like... oh, god, it is. Yorkshires and sausages and I think that's broccoli. We can't afford broccoli. God knows where he got it. I think I smell roasties, too. I haven't had roasties in months! It's always that horrible powdery fake mash that sits until it's in the discount trolley. Real potatoes. Now I'm drooling. My god. I'm going to go into the kitchen, I think, and snog him senseless. 

My god. Real potatoes! 

* * *

7 March, 2020

Percy came to visit today. He only stayed for a couple of hours, but I got to see him and he brought those scrolls for Severus. He looks different than he did. He's got a beard now, and his glasses are thicker, and he's let his hair grow so it's nearly as long at Severus'. On Percy, though, it's these great, billowing red curls like a bonfire. He looks a lot like Bill - like Bill used to, anyway. I think Bill's working for The Ministry now. At least, he was four years ago when he turned in Molly and the twins. Bastard. That utter, utter _fucking_ bastard. Why did I ever think he was so cool? I gave up trying to figure out why he did it ages ago; I'd have rather given up my powers than turn in my family. Reckon Bill thought it was more important to be able to flash his wand. Severus and I had already gone into hiding, and only Ron and Percy knew where we were. I trust them. I hope I'll always trust them. 

I know we took the piss out of Percy back when we were in school, but, you know, despite all his pompousness and need to be right all the time he was probably the strongest of us all in the end. He took care of his family after Arthur was killed in the Swansea Massacre. That was... my god, nearly five years ago. He's never broken. I'm glad it's him who's getting away - he deserves it. 

After he left, Severus just looked at the scrolls on the table for a minute. "I have faith," he said. "We'll survive, somehow." That's why he spends so much time translating scrolls, doing whatever the Heritage Project needs him to do. If we allow wizarding culture to be lost, all the spells and potions formulas and history and everything that's been built up over thousands of years, we might as well just go line up for the injections and give in right now. 

He's pure-blood, see. I used to think that was a bad thing, to be pure-blood and proud of it. I mean, Draco and the Death Eaters and Salazar Slytherin... they were _bad_. They wanted to separate from the Muggle world entirely, even go so far as to deny training to Muggle-borns, or at least forbid them any contact with their Muggle families (which was what Severus wanted). Now Bill's gone over to the Muggles, and Draco has, too, but at least he'll protect some of us. He risks his life every day just to save his godfather, just like I would risk my life every day to save Sirius if he were still here. Or Remus. Remus... his pelt is hanging in the Natural History Museum in London. There's not a fucking thing I can do about it. 

The rioting's still going on in Romanistan. Haven't heard from Hermione; I don't think she made it out of the country. I heard they've brought in military forces from India and China to control things, plus a battalion of Aurors from Nepal. I remember a time when Aurors were supposed to help protect wizards, not play policeman and assassin all in one. The wireless has bits and pieces of information every day, and the _Times_ usually has at least one story. I can read the _Times_ at work, there's always one in the staff room. I wish I could watch the news, but we can't afford a telly, much less the license fee. 

Made love with Severus again this evening before dinner. He kissed me, and the next thing we knew we were on the floor. The rug's a little worse for wear, and so's my back, but I really can't be bothered to care. It reminded me a little bit of our first time, when he'd just asked me to marry him. We gave each other our vows right there, in a ruined abbey, in the moonlight. I think the abbey was in... I don't remember, near Ravenscar, I think, or maybe Scarborough. We nearly ruined his good cloak, rubbing it all over the stones like we did. I know it's strange anymore to wait until you're married, but we did and I've never regretted it. A few days later he bought me a ring. I've still got it, even though I know we could use the money for it. I'd sooner turn myself over to The Ministry than sell it. 

Nearly midnight. Severus is asleep. I think I'll go join him. 

* * *

13 March, 2020

Percy's dead. He was shot and killed trying to enter the Swiss Republic. I read it in the paper at work. Too many wizards there, they've just started turning everyone away at the border. He tried to resist and enter anyway, and they just shot him. I didn't cry until I got home. I didn't even cry when Ron was arrested - sorry, _detained_. Percy. He didn't deserve that. He deserved to enter the country and settle down and have a proper home for the first time in god-knows-how-long. 

I can't write anymore. I've spent all evening curled up on Severus' lap, sobbing my eyes out. Now I'm too bloody exhausted to hold a quill pen. 

I can't believe Voldemort's still being likened to Hitler, at least by some of the Muggles who've heard about him and use him as a "good reason" for us to be treated like cattle. He wasn't Hitler. He was more like one of those revolutionaries from Middle America. He might have been a murdering son of a bitch, but at least he was better than this. 

* * *

15 March, 2020

Oh, my god. My god. He's finally translated all the scrolls and they give Salazar Slytherin's full account of what happened. My god, my god, my god... why the _fuck_ didn't anybody listen to him? 

Slytherin didn't want to forbid Muggle-born students from attending Hogwarts. He wanted to gradually separate them from their Muggle connections to avoid putting wizardkind at unnecessary risk. Gryffindor insisted that Muggles be used as a breeding pool, like... like genetic cattle. Slytherin had actually worked for years tracking down every wizard and witch in Britain, documenting their family backgrounds, and determining that as long as Muggle-borns and Squibs married with pure-bloods there would be no danger of massive inbreeding or dying out. We didn't _have_ to have connections to the Muggle world and he proved it! Gryffindor... he and Ravenclaw actually went so far as to document a list of certain Muggles with whom to intermarry. Hufflepuff supported Slytherin at first, but I reckon she just caved in. 

My god. My god. This whole fucking mess started a thousand years ago thanks to Godric Gryffindor's goddamned eugenics programme! 

I have never, before now, regretted choosing Gryffindor over Slytherin. Now I feel sick. I am a member of the House whose founder damned us all a thousand years ago. From this moment on, I am a Slytherin. I will never again wear red and gold; I will never again call myself a lion. 

Then, it's not as if I've got any choice. I killed the Heir of Slytherin. It was my misplaced sense of duty that finally dropped us completely into this mess. Voldemort may not have understood his ancestor's wishes, but at least he didn't just blindly do what he was told. Fuck. I am the pinnacle of Gryffindor. My god. My god. The Sorting Hat did put me in the right House in the end, and look at where it's gotten us. 

* * *

16 March, 2020

If I ever speak ill of Severus Snape, if I ever curse him for any reason, if I ever call him a slimy git or a greasy sod again, may my eyes be pecked out by wild birds. He sat up with me the whole night, promising me wholeheartedly that this is not my fault. I don't know if it's wishful thinking, or lingering fatigue, or honest trust, but I finally believe him. It's the least I can do after everything he's done to right my mistake. 

He's got to go away for a few days. The Heritage Project left another message saying their new transport messenger has gone missing and is believed detained. Severus chose to deliver his translations himself. I've sold my ring to get him money for the trip. I didn't tell him where I got it from, but I think he knows. This is the future of our world, though. That's more important than keeping a _thing_. I know how much he means to me. I don't need a ring to remind me. 

He's leaving in the morning. I'm driving him up to Coventry and leaving him at the station. He won't tell me where he's going, just in case, but he's promised he'll be back soon. I'm going to hold him to that. My god, am I going to hold him to that. 

First, though, I'm going to take him into our bedroom and see how long it takes to break the bed. If he's got to go away for a while, I don't want him to forget for an instant that he's got to come back. I reckon being unable to walk a straight line for a few days ought to do the trick. 

If it means keeping him, so help me I'm going to live and die a British wizard. I'm _Harry Potter_. I've survived absolute destruction before. I can do it again. 

* * *

18 March, 2020

I'd forgotten how bad my cooking really is. Starting to wish I'd done it for the Dursleys more. I'll chalk it up as one more reason Severus needs to come home. Well, that and the fact that I'm a nervous wreck. 

Wireless is broken and I don't know how to fix it. It's funny. I taught myself to rebuild my car's engine so I could drive three miles to work in winter, but I can't figure out for the life of me what's wrong with a little wooden box. I might ask Draco about it when Severus gets back, he's good with his hands. Then, I don't really miss it that much. As long as it's on the fritz, I can't hear, "Renegade wizard captured, underground collective broken open." At least I haven't heard anything from the Heritage Project, or from him. That's got to be a good thing, hasn't it? 

Going to go lay down and look through a few photographs, I think. I've got the pictures of Mum and Dad and Sirius and Remus that Hagrid gave me, and I've got a lot from Hogwarts. Before it was shut down, I mean. Temporarily. So they said. It's been twelve years since any wizard child in Britain has gotten a proper education, not as if they could use it. Twelve years since we left Hogwarts, twelve since Minerva started saving all the odds and sods of wizarding culture, eleven since we left Hogsmeade, nine since we found out Minerva had been detained... I don't remember any more than that. Seems like we've been here forever, a ratty little two-bedroom bungalow nobody else wanted. 

God, I want Severus to come home. 

* * *

20 March, 2020

I've just gotten home from work. Aurors are here. I've only got a few minutes. They're letting me collect a few things to take with. I'm leaving my journal behind. I don't think I'll need it where I'm going. 

Severus was identified as a wizard this morning, on the way home from his delivery, when one of his former students - now working for The Ministry - recognised him at the station. He was struck by a train while trying to evade Aurors. He didn't suffer, not from that at least. 

Somehow - I'm not entirely sure how and they won't tell me - they traced him to me. I suspect it's Draco's doing. I know he'll blame me for his godfather's death. Severus got what he wanted, though: he died a British wizard, a pure-blood, doing what he could to save his heritage. I'll see him again, someday. 

Bill's knocking. He'll be in here in a minute so I'd better end this. Don't know what I'll do in detention. I might live. I might die. Hell, I might escape. Whatever happens, though, I know who and what I am: I am Harry Potter, devoted husband of Severus Snape. I am a British wizard, and so help me Severus, that's what I'll be for the rest of my days. 


End file.
